Turtle Luck
by Flynne
Summary: A simple errand takes a deadly turn for Splinter, Leonardo, and Michelangelo. When Raphael and Donatello leave the lair to search for their missing father and brothers, danger follows close behind.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is set in the 2012 universe. Rated T just to be safe for brief violent scenes in later chapters._

* * *

Chapter 1

Splinter removed the brown hooded cloak from his closet and wrapped the garment around himself, taking care that the sleeves covered most of his hands. He practiced hunching his shoulders a few times to decrease his commanding height. He knew he looked a bit unusual in the cloak, but he'd learned that most people never questioned the appearance of one they believed to be homeless. He concealed a tanto beneath the nondescript folds of the garment and emerged from his chambers. He would pull the hood up later, but until he was ready to leave the relative safety of the sewers, the thin cloth hung in loose folds behind his shoulders.

The aggressive pinging and rattling from the pinball machine instantly told him Raphael's location. He could hear Michelangelo chattering excitedly somewhere, but he couldn't discern what he was saying over the noise of the game machine. Donatello, typically, was silent, but the faint metallic, scorched odor wafting through the lair told Splinter that his tallest son was still working in his lab. He had devised an electrical grenade of sorts for their most recent encounter with the Shredder, and even though the ambush had ultimately failed, Donatello had been pleased at how the weapon had worked and had instantly begun manufacturing more.

"Leonardo!"

The blue-masked Turtle appeared in the doorway of his room when he heard Splinter call, dangling a small bag in one hand while tucking a pair of kaiken into his belt. It felt strange seeing his son carrying the short daggers instead of his katana, but the gleaming twin swords were anything but inconspicuous.

"Are you ready to leave?" Splinter asked.

"Hai, Sensei." He slung the bag over one shoulder. Inside were a pair of baggy jeans and a too-large hooded sweatshirt that Leo would pull on before they emerged from the sewer. Unlike their father, the Turtles had never been comfortable in clothing – mostly because anything that effectively concealed their shelled silhouettes was inevitably at least two sizes too large. Even though the extra fabric didn't impede their movements too badly, they still _felt_ hampered by the clothes.

"Sensei!" Michelangelo came tumbling out of Leonardo's room in his brother's wake, looking hopefully up into his father's face. "Can I come, too?"

The rat considered for a moment. "You may," he assented, nodding once. "So long as you can be ready in five minutes. Your brother and I are already prepared to leave."

"Awesome! Yeah, I can be ready! Hang on!" And he bounded off to his own room.

Leonardo looked at Splinter uncertainly. "Uh...Sensei...really?"

"With three of us, we can carry more food," Splinter replied practically. "And you have told me that Michelangelo has been getting better about his focus. This will be a good training exercise for him."

His eldest considered for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "As long as he keeps his paws off his T-phone," he said with a smirk. "Otherwise he'll be playing games on it all night."

"Michelangelo reporting for duty!" The orange-masked Turtle came running up and saluted smartly, his own small backpack slung over his shoulder.

Splinter folded his arms and gave his son an appraising glance. "Is your phone silenced?"

"Hai, Sensei!"

"And you have packed clothing?"

"Hai, Sensei!"

"You are sure you remembered pants this time?"

Michelangelo looked insulted. _"Sensei!"_

"It's a valid question," Leonardo pointed out.

"Hm. True," his younger brother conceded. He looked up at Splinter, blue eyes wide and sincere. "I have pants."

Splinter allowed a spare, amused smile to cross his face as he lightly cuffed his youngest son on the side of the head. "Raphael, we are leaving," he called. "I would like you and Donatello to stay home until we return." He waited until he heard the faint _"Hai, Sensei"_ from the general direction of the pinball machine, then turned to go.

He paused briefly at the lair's hidden exit, tufted ears twitching for a moment or two as he listened to make sure the outside tunnel was empty, then slipped out into the darkened passageway. A dim puddle of yellow light surrounded them from the small lamp clipped to his belt. His two sons followed noiselessly, staying close to his side like twin shadows. He couldn't keep a pleased smile from his face. Almost from the very first days after their mutation, the Turtles had immediately and instinctively followed him. It had been a difficult task to teach the clumsily toddling young ones to follow _silently_, but when his sons learned a skill, they learned it well.

"Where are we going?" Leonardo asked softly.

"The Salvation Army first, and then St. Thomas," Splinter replied. He hadn't visited either food pantry in several weeks, so it was unlikely that he would be remembered. It hadn't taken him long to figure out where the homeless population of New York went to get donated groceries, and over the years he had developed a plan for going back and forth between different locations, changing the order every few months or so. If he he pressed his ears flat against his head, pulled the hood over his face, and kept away from direct light (and kept his tail curled beneath his clothing), any humans he interacted with remained oblivious to the fact that he was a giant rat.

His task had become easier over the past several months after he had finally allowed his sons to emerge into the overhead world. They could take home more food at one time, which meant fewer trips topside for Splinter. And since his nemesis had appeared in New York, he had all but stopped his trips to the surface altogether.

Truthfully, deep down he did not want his sons going up so frequently, either...but through a curious – or cruel – twist of fate, they had become guardians of the city against the growing threat of the Purple Dragons and guardians of Earth against the Kraang. The warrior of honor buried beneath Splinter's animal exterior could not forbid that the four Turtles abandon those whom they had chosen to protect; and the father in him could not deny his sons the joy of their new freedom. So he had chosen to trust in his sons' skill and provide guidance where he could...and bide his time until the inevitable confrontation.

The trio moved slowly and cautiously until they were several blocks from the lair, then increased their pace to a graceful, ground-eating lope. Splinter took a different route to the surface each time even though he had never encountered anyone. This time, he chose to take a run-down, drippy drainage tunnel. He held out a hand briefly to signal a halt and lifted his head, sniffing the damp air cautiously. Michelangelo's hand slapped against his outstretched palm in a high five, and he had to bite back an amused grin.

"Stay close," he murmured. "These passageways are stable but there is a good deal of debris underfoot."

"We know," Michelangelo replied in the same tone. "This is where we flushed Rad Brad and Xever down the sewer after we tricked them into following us down here. Isn't that right, Leo?"

"We're in the neighborhood," the older Turtle confirmed. "It was a few blocks north of here, I think. Near one of the bigger water mains."

Michelangelo walked beside his father while Leonardo brought up the rear. Splinter's steps slowed as he advanced. Although he hadn't been that way for a while, the corridor felt different. There was a fresh current of air coming from somewhere that seemed out of place. They had made it halfway to the next junction when a very soft _click-whrrr_ reached Splinter's ears. The rat halted instantly, gripping Michelangelo's upper arm with one hand while slapping his other against Leonardo's plastron. Both Turtles froze immediately, hardly breathing.

Splinter had half a heartbeat to realize that he and Michelangelo were too far forward. Half a heartbeat to realize he did not have time to run. Half a heartbeat to save his sons.

The hidden charges in the passageway detonated with a blinding flash, the blast echoed by the sound of shattering cinderblock and crashing wooden beams. Splinter shoved Leonardo back as hard as he could, trying to throw him out of harm's way, and jerked Michelangelo against his body. He had just enough time to curl himself protectively over his son before the ceiling crashed down.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Hey, Raph?"

Raph's eyes cut over to his brother as the pinball jangled off the bumpers. "Yeah, what?"

Don crossed the room to lean against the side of the pinball machine, blinking a little as the silver ball set off a cascade of lights and bells. "You've been at this for over an hour. Your brain is going to rattle out of your skull."

Raph rolled his eyes. "Is that what you came over here to tell me?"

"Huh? No. I wanted to ask if you felt something a little while ago. Maybe thirty minutes ago?"

"You're going to have to be more specific about what you mean by 'felt' and 'something'."

"Like a rumbling or shaking?"

"Why, did you blow something up again?"

Donnie's eyes narrowed. "No, I did not blow anything up, and I don't appreciate what you're insinuating by saying 'again'." Raph grinned. Don slugged his shoulder. "I'm being serious! Did you feel anything?"

"No, why?"

"Well, I was working in the lab and I noticed that some of my seismic sensors had picked up on some vibrations. I didn't feel anything but I was concentrating pretty hard on not getting electrocuted – again – so I..."

Well, this conversation wasn't going to end quickly. Raph sighed and let the pinball rattle into the gutter. The machine clanged mournfully and went dark. "What seismic sensors?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

Raph folded his arms and leaned his hip against the pinball machine, biting back an amused smile as Donnie launched into his explanation, eyes brightening with excitement. "Well, I've started leaving small seismic sensors in the tunnels when we go out on patrol. Some of them are really sensitive and will pick up vibrations from large trucks overhead, even deep below the surface, but some will only go off if there's an earthquake."

Raph lifted an eye ridge. "In New York?"

"It's been known to happen," Don said defensively. "Anyway, some of the sensors went off a few miles away. I wondered if you felt anything, since the vibrations would have had to be pretty strong to set those particular sensors off."

"The only 'vibrations' I feel are from my stomach," Raph answered. "I'm hungry. You want anything?"

"Is there anything in the fridge?"

"I think Mikey's got a few pieces of pizza left."

Don smirked, glancing up from the text he was typing on his T-phone. "You keep eating his leftovers and he's going to use your sai to clean out the shower drain." He followed his brother into the kitchen.

"Let him try. I haven't played 'Does Mikey Bend That Way' in ages." Raph considered the half-empty pizza box for a moment, then closed the fridge and retrieved the carton of Moose Tracks ice cream from the freezer. "Found this. You want some?"

"Sure."

Raph grabbed a spoon for himself and flipped one across the counter to Donnie. The container was mostly empty, so the brothers shared it. Don kept throwing little glances at his phone while he ate, finally prompting Raphael to say, "You act like your phone's going to bite you."

"Huh? Oh, it's...well, probably nothing," Donnie answered absently. "It's just...I texted Leo a while ago to see if _he_ felt anything, but he hasn't responded."

"Try Mikey."

"I did."

"Try 'safe'."

Don looked apprehensive. "I did that, too. Nothing. And when I try to track the T-phones, I can't get a signal."

Something cold and shivery coiled in Raph's gut. While they frequently got themselves into situations where they couldn't use their T-phones, they had agreed that unless things were truly dangerous, if one of them sent out a "safe?" text, the recipient would always, _always_ respond. Tonight was a simple errand..._and_ his brothers were with Splinter. If they couldn't answer, it meant that things were bad.

"What do we do?" Donnie asked.

"We go after them."

"Didn't Splinter want us to stay here?"

"That was before he and our brothers went AWOL."

It was a testament to how worried Donnie was that he didn't correct Raphael's terminology. "I don't know what tunnels they were taking, but I can tell you the location where the seismic sensors went off. We can start looking there. It might be completely unrelated, but it's all we've got."

"Okay. But we're going on the surface. Whatever set off those sensors was in the sewers. We don't want to run into it ourselves."

Don licked the last of the chocolate from his spoon and tossed it to his brother. "You ready?"

Raph held a spoon in each hand, spinning them as if they were his sai. "Let's grab our gear and hit the road."

* * *

The pain woke him, but it was almost enough to send him spiraling back into unconsciousness again. A sharp, crushing weight was pressing on his back, and his chest curved painfully over something hard and unyielding as stone. Charred brick dust stung his nose and he coughed, a motion that sent lightning bolts streaking across the inside of his skull.

"Sensei?"

Splinter's eyes flew open as sudden memory slammed into place. The rock beneath him shifted just slightly and he realized with a jolt of alarm that he was lying on top of – "Mi – Michelangelo," he forced out, voice as harsh as if he had swallowed gravel. He pressed his palms flat against the cold ground and pushed. He champed his teeth together against the pain that roared to life in his chest, but a keening growl managed to escape despite his efforts to remain silent.

A cascade of brick tumbled off his back with a sound like shattering pottery. Michelangelo wiggled free the instant he felt his father's weight lift off of him and he scrambled to his hands and knees, grabbing chunks of masonry and lifting them away from Splinter. "Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was higher than usual, vibrating with tension.

Splinter sat up shakily, supporting his body with one arm while pressing his other palm against the stabbing pain in his side. His vision skittered and blurred as he moved, and he put a hand to his head, willing the disorientation to go away. He looked over Michelangelo anxiously, checking for visible injuries. "Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked.

Michelangelo shook his head. "You shouldn't have done that, Sensei," he said, near tears. "I have a shell, remember?"

Splinter looked around the destroyed corridor. The lamp on his belt had miraculously survived, but was flickering dangerously. The shadows loomed sharp and black behind the rubble. Somewhere in the shadows up above, a pipe had burst, and a fine, cold mist glimmered in the air. A horrible pain wrenched at his heart as he saw the large pile of charred brick and wooden beams blocking the passage behind him.

"Michelangelo, your brother..."

"I've been calling him," the orange-banded Turtle said. The tears in his wide blue eyes spilled over, darkening his mask and leaving streaks in the soot and dirt on his freckled face. "The whole time, I've called him. He hasn't answered."

"How long?" The words felt like thorny brambles in his throat.

Michelangelo sniffed, swiping a hand across his damp cheeks. "Forty-five minutes, maybe?"

A low, involuntary moan that had nothing to do with his injuries slipped out as the master struggled to stand. Michelangelo jumped forward and ducked under Splinter's arm to help him up. Splinter paused just long enough to give his son a thin, grateful smile, then began throwing bricks to the ground, trying to get through the pile of rubble.

"Leonardo! Answer me!" His most commanding voice rebounded mockingly off the shattered walls. The jagged stone tore at his hands. "Leonardo!" The pile of brick shifted with a clattering rumble.

"_Stop!"_

Splinter froze, breath catching in his throat, ears swiveling sharply forward. The voice had been so faint that he wondered if he had simply imagined it. He grabbed Michelangelo's arm, halting his son's efforts to help.

"Leonardo?"

"_Sensei..." _

The breathless reply was nearly inaudible even to the rat's sensitive ears, but it was unmistakeable. Splinter crouched down, sniffing warily at the pile until his nose caught his eldest son's scent. He unhooked the lamp from his belt and carefully moved it toward the small crevice in the unsteady mound of masonry. The light threaded through the gap until the faint glow illuminated a green foot. The momentary relief Splinter felt was immediately overwhelmed by a fresh wave of fear when he saw the glistening red trail snaking across the floor of the tunnel, mingling with the pools of water.

"You are bleeding!"

"It's...my arm. Don't think it's as bad as it looks," Leonardo answered. "But I...can't move."

Splinter was glad to know his son was capable of lucid conversation, but the strained, gasping tone of his voice caused his stomach to twist anxiously. "You are trapped? Tell me how," he said, worry making his deep voice sound more severe than usual.

"There's a beam...on my chest. Can't take a deep breath. Can't move the bricks...it's slipping."

Splinter pulled back a bit and looked at the wooden beam protruding from the pile of rubble. Based on where he had seen Leonardo's foot, he could guess which beam was pinning his son to the floor, but by the way the shattered brick had shifted when he had tried to clear it, he knew the beam was unsteady. But from the sound of Leonardo's voice, he could guess his location and could tell the pile of rubble wasn't very wide. He put his hand on Michelangelo's shoulder. "Do you think you can get around this?"

Michelangelo gave the unsteady pile a narrow-eyed, appraising glance, then nodded once. He backed up a few steps then darted forward, ricocheting nimbly off the wall and landing soundlessly on the other side. "I see him!" he called immediately.

"Be careful," Splinter warned, hearing the clatter as Michelangelo started pulling bricks off his brother.

"I think you can make it over, Sensei. It's not that far, and you won't put weight on the beam if you land next to the wall."

Splinter moved forward cautiously, following his son's voice and the curve of the wall. By holding the lamp aloft he could see that Michelangelo was right. It wouldn't be easy – he was much bigger and heavier than his son, not to mention that he was still struggling to fend of dizziness, and his back and ribs burned with every movement – but he could do it.

He had mentally braced himself for the pain but it still took his breath away. He landed with an uncharacteristic stumble and fell to his hands and knees. The black spots swirling across his vision faded to reveal Michelangelo's worried face a few inches from the end of his nose. The world still seemed to be slanted crazily and he couldn't balance enough to stand, but at least he could still move. He gently brushed aside his son's worried inquiries and instead crawled over to the glimpse of blue and green he saw beneath the black and red brick.

Leonardo managed a weak grin as the familiar wide-eared silhouette loomed over him. "I almost made it," he said breathlessly.

Splinter's mouth tightened in worry as he surveyed the situation. Leonardo was flat on his back, the dome of his shell wedged in place by shattered masonry above and below him. The beam that angled across his body was both a blessing and a curse – the charred wood had deflected the blasted concrete that would have shattered his skull, but it weighed heavily on his plastron. The armor of his shell had saved him from instant death from a crushed chest, but each breath was a little shallower and a little more difficult than the one before, and Splinter could see the carefully controlled panic in the depths of his son's eyes.

"Michelangelo, call your brothers," he ordered. "We will need them."

"I can't," came the reluctant reply. "My T-phone got smashed."

Splinter's white brows drew together in a frown. He rested a hand briefly on Leonardo's forehead while surveying the tumbled mass of ruin before him. "We must work quickly," he said to Michelangelo. "I do not know who placed the explosives in the tunnel, but we must assume that they could know the blast was triggered. Keep watch while I free Leonardo."

Michelangelo nodded firmly, pulling his nunchaku from his belt and whirling the heavy handles to pin them between his elbows and his sides, ready to swing at a moment's notice. He surveyed the pile of destroyed masonry briefly before he saw an area where he could sit and not endanger Leonardo. He crouched briefly and gave a light spring, landing silently atop the pile, orange-banded head tilted slightly as he listened.

Splinter began removing bricks as fast as he dared, watching the unsteady masonry for signs of giving way. "How badly are you hurt?"

"I – I don't know," Leonardo forced out. "My arm, but..." He swallowed. "I can't tell anything else." Splinter's stomach twisted. Leonardo knew he was hurt, but the pain and pressure on his shell was preventing him from knowing his exact injuries. Brick dust and soot coated Splinter's hands as he worked. Although his instincts were screaming at him to tear the pile apart, every few moments the rubble would shift with an alarming rumble and he was forced to work slowly.

"Sensei!" Michelangelo hissed.

Splinter froze, switching off the lamp. Michelangelo slipped down from his perch and pressed against his side in the shadows. Splinter put an arm around his shell, closed his eyes, and listened.

He heard no sound, but a sinister chill raced down Splinter's spine from the nape of his neck to the tip of his tail. Someone was coming. He tensed, ears lifted high and swiveling on his head, nose twitching. Humans. Two of them. Their scents were mingled with the smell of sword oil.

His fur bristled and his brown eyes glared menacingly into the darkness. Ninjas. The Foot.

He crouched, poised to spring, but then the faintest of whispers touched his ears and he held his breath, listening. The familiar sound of his native tongue echoed gently off of the damp stone walls.

"_Heh. The dog-thing was right. Something __**did**__ trigger the explosives."_

"_Why did he pick this place?"_

"_He and the fish man fought them here once. They were defeated, of course..." _Both men snickered derisively. _"...but clearly it wasn't a total loss. We knew where to start looking."_

"_What is the latest report from Koji-san?"_

"_They have one."_

"_Only one?"_

"_It was hard enough capturing it. Sato has a broken arm, Inoue may lose an eye, and Tanaka-san has been unconscious ever since the fight."_

"_Che. Fierce bastards, aren't they?"_

"_We've never gotten one of them alone before. The Master plans to interrogate it...so we'll see how fierce it is once it's been carved out of its shell."_

Ice-cold fear and white-hot fury crashed together within Splinter's furred chest. Either something had happened to drive Raphael and Donatello from home, or the Foot had found the lair. Splinter could feel Michelangelo's body go rigid as the Turtle realized the implications of what he had overheard.

The voices grew closer. Splinter's hand curled tightly around the hilt of his tanto.

"_Ah, look at this. It'll take hours for us to move this rubble."_

"_The dog-creature said to search."_

"_I don't take orders from a dog. Only the Master. We __**will**__ search...but with proper equipment. This tunnel is ready to cave in. Come. We'll go and get help, and then come back. If anything is under all that, it won't be going anywhere."_

There was no sound of fading footsteps, but Splinter could sense the ninjas' retreating presence. He remained still and silent for long moments after he was sure they were gone. Michelangelo did not move, did not speak – he knew from the grip of the hand on his shoulder that his father needed him to be silent.

Splinter shut his eyes and simply concentrated on breathing. His heart was pounding wildly within his chest, and it was all he could do to keep his rage and terror in check. The Shredder had captured one of his sons. Saki didn't know that the Turtles were Splinter's sons, but it wouldn't matter. He knew they were his disciples, and he knew there were four of them...which meant he would view any prisoner as a spare. An object to use until every ounce of life and information and blood was drained away, leaving a bloody husk behind. Splinter knew all too well how savage his nemesis could be with the long blades that had given him his name.

He knew how it would sound when tempered steel crunched through a shell.

"Sensei," Michelangelo finally whispered, "what do we do?"

Before Splinter could answer, the charred wooden beam beside him groaned and shuddered as it slipped down again, wringing a sharp cry from Leonardo, followed by a terrible silence. And then Splinter began tearing at the wreckage without caution, without hesitation – because the pressure of the beam had compressed Leonardo's chest to the point that he couldn't breathe, and if he wasn't freed immediately, he would suffocate before his father's eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Donnie narrowed his eyes and jumped, landing lightly on the roof. It was windy and he'd had to gauge his steps more carefully. He knew his brothers didn't fully appreciate how difficult it was to perform rooftop acrobatics with a six-foot staff strapped to his back, but he was pretty pleased with himself at how quickly he'd adapted. _That_ had been one skill he hadn't been able to hone in the sewers.

He reached the apartment building at the intersection where he'd arranged to meet Raph and knelt near the edge, gazing into the darkened alley. Raph had suggested that Donnie go over the rooftops while he covered the street level. Don wasn't keen on splitting up, but he saw the logic in the decision that would allow them to search a wider surface area, and they had planned on staying within earshot of each other.

Exactly four and a half minutes ticked past on his mental clock before he decided something was wrong. Raph should have been there by now...or if he'd gotten held up by unexpected human traffic, he should have texted him. But both Don's T-phone and the alley below remained ominously quiet. He pulled up the tracking program on his phone with a heavy sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, hoping against hope that at least one of his brothers could be located.

The city at night was never completely silent. There was always the background noise of traffic, music playing in apartments or passing cars, or the distant wail of a siren. But when the sharp clatter and clang of toppled garbage cans reached Don's ears, he sprang to his feet, cocked his head for a moment to decide from which direction the sound had come, and dashed away. He knew it could be a wild goose chase – possums, stray cats, and even raccoons roamed the trash-filled alleys – but his entire family was unaccounted for and somehow he _knew_ that wild animals weren't responsible for the sounds he had heard. A quick glance down at his phone showed that the tracking program was still searching, so he tucked the device into his belt to free his hands.

He pulled his bo from its sheath, using the sturdy staff to vault over a wide alley between buildings. The noise from the trash cans reached his ears again, and he muttered a curse as he realized he was two blocks east of where he should be. He turned sharply and bounded over the rooftop and up a water tower, launching himself in a high leap through the cool night air.

When he peered down into the darkened alley, it was deserted. But three silver trash cans were toppled, corrugated sides deeply dented, and one of them still rocked gently back and forth as if it had just been touched. And near the mouth of the alley, something small and silver gleamed sharply in the glow of a street lamp. Heart thumping uneasily, Donnie slipped off the side of the building and climbed agilely down the fire escape. He landed in a crouch, bo held at the ready, but the alley was empty. Ghosting along the graffiti-spattered wall, he moved toward the glinting object he had seen. His keen eyes took in the sharp curves of a shuriken. It wasn't one of theirs, and his stomach lurched when he saw that the razor points were tacky with blood.

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, choking back the knot of worry and fear rising up in his throat. Even by himself and outnumbered, Raphael was a formidable fighter. How had the Foot managed to overwhelm him so quickly? He pulled his T-phone from his belt, anxiously scanning the small screen for any sign of his family. For once, luck was with him. A small red blip was superimposed over a map of the city. It was moving quickly, but the signal was strong.

Donnie was still worried that his phone couldn't locate Splinter, Mikey, and Leo, but right now he knew where Raph was. "Be okay, guys," he whispered. He sprang up and caught the edge of the fire escape again, scaling the side of the building in a flash. He sheathed his bo and set off at a run, following after his captured brother.

* * *

Leo was fading. Mikey's arms burned as he chucked bricks and concrete away from the pile, but it wasn't fast enough. Leo's eyes were wide, glazed with panic and pain, mouth half open as he tried and failed to breathe. Splinter shoved a slab of masonry away from the beam that trapped his son. He jammed his shoulder beneath the splintered wood and pushed upward, teeth bared as his back and chest flared with white-hot pain. The beam creaked and groaned and a shower of pebbles and dust bounced off of Leo's plastron, but the beam didn't move.

The beam didn't move – but Mikey saw the subtle shifting of the shattered bricks that pinned his brother's limbs in place. He fell to his hands and knees and scrabbled at the debris. Small chunks moved at first, then bigger ones, and in a moment he had cleared the debris away from his brother's left side. Leo wrenched his arm free and planted his palm on the beam, pushing weakly in a vain attempt to free himself...then, despite the blue tinge creeping across his lips, he began pushing at Mikey...because Mikey was wedging himself beneath the beam in the space he had just cleared.

"Michelangelo!" Splinter barked.

"Leo, don't fight me! Let me do this!" Mike yelled, elbowing his brother's arm out of his way. "Sensei, get ready to grab him!" He shoved himself forward, thanking his lucky stars that he was so much smaller than his brothers. Gritting his teeth, he gathered his arms and legs beneath him...

…and pushed.

Leo's weak struggling stopped, and Mikey felt his brother's hand slide limply to the ground.

Mikey took a deep breath and let it out and _pushed..._

The beam groaned and his entire frame ached from the stress on his shell, but his compact limbs were strong, and millimeter by millimeter, the beam began to move. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his mask as he slowly forced himself to his hands and knees.

Splinter hooked his hands beneath Leo's arms and dragged his unconscious son to safety, then dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Michelangelo's waist. "I'm going to pull you free – are you ready?" he asked shortly.

"Yes!"

Splinter locked his hands together and flung his body back, yanking the Turtle away from the shattered masonry. The beam crashed to the ground millimeters from Mikey's head in a cloud of dust. Mikey hastily disentangled himself from his father's arms, crawling toward Leo on quivering limbs. His older brother was too still, lips faintly blue in the weak light of the lamp. Mikey pressed his fingers to Leo's throat. His eyes were flicking back and forth beneath his closed lids as if he were dreaming, but his pulse was rapid, fluttery, and fading...and he wasn't breathing.

"Come on, Dude, you're not giving up that easy!" Mikey planted his palms in the middle of Leo's plastron and gave a sharp push. The last of the trapped air in his lungs huffed out, then Leo gave a spasmodic jerk as he sucked in a long, wheezing, agonized breath. It sounded as if he were trying to suck mud through a straw, but to Mikey's ears, it was beautiful. Splinter hurried to help Leonardo sit up. Leo wilted into his father's arms, gasping and coughing, arms curled close to his chest as if he were trying to hold his shell together.

Mikey hovered close by, watching his brother anxiously, and when Leonardo opened his eyes and reached for him with a shaking hand, he immediately ducked under Leo's arm and buried his face against his neck. He wrapped his arms around Leo as tightly as he dared and just hung on.

"Thank you," Leo rasped in his ear. He closed his eyes and hugged Mikey close.

Mikey felt Splinter's hands gently exploring their shells, checking for cracks, and he heard the subtle sigh of relief when none were found.

"Are you having any difficulty breathing?" Splinter asked.

Leo inhaled cautiously a few times, then shook his head. "Feels like I've got some cracked ribs," he answered, "but other than that, no." He lifted bloodshot eyes to Splinter's face. "I heard the Foot," he said hoarsely. "Sensei, what happened?"

"I do not know," came the anxious reply. "It is possible that our home may be compromised, but we must attempt to return there. I know your brothers would not leave without permission unless they felt that they had no choice." He inspected Leo's right arm, frowning at the gash running the length of the biceps, but although the wound was long, it was shallow. Small droplets of blood beaded sluggishly along the edges of torn green skin, but the worst of the bleeding had long since stopped. Splinter used his tanto to cut a strip from the bottom of his cloak and bind the injury.

Mikey withdrew a few paces, going against his natural inclination to stay close to Leo in order to give Splinter room to work – and to stand guard. He curled his fists around the handles of his nunchaku, taking comfort in the solid feeling of the wood against his palms. The soft hiss of the leaking pipe and _plip, plip_ of dripping water seemed loud in the sudden silence. The occasional clatter of a falling pebble could be heard...but then he heard a louder, sharper sound – the sound of a rock tumbling across the tunnel floor. The sound of a rock that had been accidentally kicked.

Nerves tingling with sudden alarm, Mikey drifted to his father's side and touched his elbow. Both Splinter and Leo ceased all movement. Splinter switched off the lamp again. Darkness pressed against Mikey's eyes like a curtain. Splinter could see better in the dark than the Turtles could, though, so when Mike felt a familiar large hand touch his, he wrapped his blunt fingers around Splinter's slender ones and allowed himself to be led back in the direction they had come.

The bright beam of a floodlight sliced through the darkness. Mikey nearly lost his footing as Splinter whisked around a corner, dragging both his sons with him. Leo stumbled to a halt, pressing his free hand against his side as his breath hitched painfully in his chest.

"Ah! _Kame!_" The shout rebounded sharply off the shattered walls of the tunnel.

"They saw us," Leo whispered through gritted teeth.

"Michelangelo," Splinter said in a low voice, "take your brother home. I will stay and prevent them from following you."

Mikey's face set in a rarely-seen frown and he shook his head. "No, Sensei," he said firmly. "You should take Leo. You're hurt, and we can't let the Foot find you. All they saw was a turtle." He pulled his nunchaku from his belt. "They want a turtle? I'll give 'em a turtle."

"We can't just leave you!" Leo hissed, darting a worried glance at his father. It hadn't registered with him that Splinter had been injured. His hand lifted in an aborted movement as he reached for the hilt of the katana he wasn't wearing.

"But you guys can't fight," Mikey argued. "I don't have to beat 'em...I just need to keep them back long enough for you to get away. And I can do it. But you gotta go _now!_" He lifted his head and stared his father down. Although Splinter looked stern, Mikey could see the subtle changes that showed his Sensei's distress as blatantly as if he were screaming; the set of his whiskers, the slight backward tilt of his ears, and the faint pucker of his forehead over his deep brown eyes betrayed that his father knew he was right, but the fact that he would have to make the choice to leave Michelangelo behind was tearing him apart.

The breath drained from Splinter's chest in a resigned sigh. "Michelangelo is right," he said dejectedly, laying his hand on Leonardo's shoulder. "I do not wish to go ahead without him, but you and I would only hinder him." He fixed a calm, steady gaze on his youngest son. "He can do this."

Leo swallowed hard. "I know he can, Sensei." He pulled the kaiken out of his belt and tucked them into Mikey's, then rested his hand heavily on his brother's head. "Kick shell, Mikey."

Mikey grinned. "Oh, you know I will."

Splinter gently touched Michelangelo's face for the briefest of moments, then took Leonardo's arm again and guided his injured son into the shadows.

Mikey watched them go, then spun around and pressed his back against the wall. His eyes narrowed, the playful sparkle in the blue depths becoming flat and cold as flint. He twitched his wrists and his nunchaku started to spin, humming like a swarm of angry hornets as he sprang into the light.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Don crouched in the shadows, eyes narrowed as his calculating gaze scanned the building in front of him. He turned off his T-phone and tucked it into his belt. The tracking program had led him to a run-down office building near the docks. He knew that Raph's T-phone was inside; he could only hope the phone was with his missing brother.

He quickly took note of the ventilation shaft and his engineer's mind could picture the ductwork in the walls. It should be possible for him to fit, shell and all...but his bo staff wouldn't make it through. A thoughtful frown furrowed his smooth forehead as his hands played absently across his belt. He had a few smoke pellets and shuriken, and he could easily take on a few Foot ninja in hand-to-hand combat, but if there were more than three or four, he'd need some sort of weapon to give him an edge.

His eyes drifted to the greasy concrete underfoot, stomach twisting as droplets of fresh blood glimmered up at him in the weak parking lot lights. Raph was here, all right...and he couldn't wait. Glancing around one last time to make sure he wasn't seen, he froze as a faint burst of of silver and red flashed at the edge of his vision. He crossed the cracked, weed-infested parking lot on soundless feet and crouched in the shadows beside a dumpster to inspect what had caught his eye. One side of his mouth lifted in a smug, cold grin. He and his brothers had each chosen their signature weapons long ago...but only after Splinter had trained them on his entire arsenal. Most people thought that they didn't know how to fight with weapons other than their own. The Foot were about to learn a painful definition of the word "assume".

He pulled the sai out of the pile of refuse that had overflowed from the dumpster and hooked them in his belt. Pausing just long enough to stash his bo behind the rusting green receptacle, he slipped his shuko spikes over his hands and set off at a run. A powerful thrust of his legs propelled him off the ground and onto the building. He landed with a soft _crunch_ as his spikes embedded in the wall and then started to climb, pressing his knee pads and thick-skinned toes into the brick to aid in the ascent.

He used his teeth to pull the spikes off his right hand when he reached the outer vent and pulled a shuriken out of his belt. His legs and left arm burned with the effort of holding his position on the side of the building as he used one of the shuriken's tips as a makeshift screwdriver to remove three of the four screws holding the grate in place. He loosened the fourth screw enough so he could swing the grate aside to hang down agains the side of the building. The rusty metal screeched as it slid across the brick and he cringed at the noise, but his legs were starting to shake and he couldn't hang there forever. His muscles bunched as he gave one last push, and then he was in, sliding along the bottom of the duct on his plastron.

The ventilation shaft was too narrow for him to turn around, so he couldn't put the grate back the way it it had been. If anyone looked up they'd see it hanging open, but he wasn't planning on being in the building long anyway. Breathing carefully so as not to inhale the thick dust coating the bottom of the shaft, he slowly started crawling through.

* * *

Mikey sprang into the light and dropped into a defensive crouch, feeling the backwash of air on his face from his whizzing nunchaku. A cluster of shuriken ricocheted off the spinning weapons and scraped against the wall of the tunnel. Mikey had just enough time to count eight Foot soldiers before they came at him.

He whirled and spun, feeling the impact as his weapon cracked against the first ninja's forearm. A flick of his wrist sent the fundo from his kusarigama rocketing through the air. The heavy iron weight twined around the ankle of a Foot ninja. He gave a powerful yank and the snared man went flying through the air, taking two of his companions out. Mikey hit the deck as the blade of a katana whistled over his head, spinning on his carapace and sweeping his leg out to send the blade-wielding attacker to the ground.

The ninja couldn't move fast enough to reach him with the blade, but he threw his arm out and pounded Mikey's wrist with the pommel of the sword hilt. Mikey snarled in pain as his hand went numb and one of his nunchaku clattered to the ground. He rolled away, pulling one of Leo's kaiken from his belt with tingling fingers and hurled the blade at the ninja who had struck him. The cry from the wounded ninja barely registered on his ears as he regained his footing, whirling his remaining nunchaku with one hand while releasing three shuriken with the other.

The Foot soldiers threw themselves out of the path of the flying weapons and Mikey leaped into the gap, spinning and striking, a whirlwind of destruction. Blows and weapons thudded harmlessly off his carapace, but he felt a fiery streak across his left shoulder as a tanto slipped through his defenses. Ignoring the hot blood sluicing down his arm, he drew the second kaiken and stabbed backwards, feeling the solid impact as the blade struck home. He twisted the kaiken and wrenched it free, slashing the dripping blade in a wide sweep to force the encroaching attackers back.

Mikey broke free of the encircling pack of ninjas, jumping high into the air and ricocheting off the wall, landing in a crouch near his dropped nunchaku. His teeth bared in a grin as his fingers closed around the handle. The cold rattle of a chain echoed off the cement wall as twin sickle blades sliced through the air.

Five minutes later, it was over.

Mikey stood in the middle of a circle of crumpled, bleeding black forms, breathing heavily as sweat dripped down his face and blood dripped down his arm. He gave his nunchaku one last twirl and stuffed them in his belt, then collected the kaiken that Leo had given him. When one of the Foot ninja stirred, he lifted a warning hand and shook his head.

"Take my advice, Dude," he said. "Stay down." He stooped to pick up a rock, flinging it at the floodlight. The bulb shattered in a spray of glass and sparks, and without a sound, Michelangelo was gone.

* * *

Sweat trickled down the side of Donnie's face, creating a glistening track along his dusty skin. He'd been making his way through the cramped ductwork in complete darkness, the only sound the occasionally soft scrape as his carapace touched the metal sides. The building seemed deserted and he'd started to be afraid that Raph wasn't there...but as he lifted his head again to look up ahead, he saw a faint glimmer of light.

His pulse quickened with a surge of adrenaline and hope, and he slowed his pace, careful to move forward without making a sound. As he approached, he could see that the light was coming up through a vent in the ceiling of the room below. The vent was located at a junction; the duct Don was crawling in stretched forward into the darkness, but directly above the vent, another duct extended up at a 90 degree angle.

Donnie held his breath as he reached the vent, peering through the grate into the room below. A tangled mixture of relief and alarm coursed through him. He'd found Raphael.

His brother was lying on his side, arms bound tightly behind his back. His ankles were tied as well. Donnie saw immediately where the blood in the parking lot had come from. Three shuriken were embedded in his right thigh, and there was another open gash where a fourth shuriken had fallen away. Blood still trickled from the wound, hot and jarringly red against the grass-green skin. Don could see the muscle of Raphael's wounded leg spasming against the pain of the invading metal, and his soft brown eyes grew cold and hard with fury. Raph's body was marred here and there with smaller cuts and bruises, but his eyes were open and alert as he glared defiantly at his captors.

Five Foot ninja were watching Raph warily from the other side of the room, well out of reach even though the Turtle was wounded and restrained. Don glanced around as best as he could through the slits in the vent. He couldn't hear the sound of anyone close by but this was a building full of ninja. He wasn't going to hear anyone unless they were right on top of him.

He eased himself forward millimeter by millimeter, moving with with painstaking slowness until he was standing in the vertical shaft, straddling the grate. He threaded the fingers of his left hand through the prongs of one sai and gripped the handle of the other in his right, ready to throw. Then he counted to three...and jumped.

The grate buckled under his feet and crashed to the floor. One Foot ninja collapsed howling as a sai flashed through the air and embedded in his shoulder. Donnie rolled as he hit the ground, sweeping his legs to take another ninja out at the knees while hooking the prongs of the sai in his left hand around the ankle of another. He used his momentum to give the weapon a savage wrench and felt the crunch as the ankle gave way, springing to his feet.

A black-clad shape brandishing a tanto in each hand leaped at his throat. Donnie writhed out of the way of the first tanto and blocked the second with the sai, sending sparks flying. The ninja he'd taken out at the knees was up and coming for him. He hooked the man's wrist with the sai the way he'd seen Raph do it countless times and the ninja hurtled over his shoulder. The ninja crashed into his comrade with the tantos, screaming when one of the blades sank into his side. The ninja with the knives fell hard and his head bounced off the concrete floor. He didn't get up. Don yanked the sai out of the body of the man huddled in pain on the floor and whirled around, spinning both sai in his hands. The fifth ninja paused, then flung his hands out to send a flurry of shuriken slicing through the air.

Toward Raphael.

Donnie hurled himself across the room, throwing a sai once again before twisting his body in midair so his back was to his enemy. He heard the ninja collapse as his weapon struck home, then he was crashing into Raphael, wrapping himself around his brother like a shield as the shuriken thunked into his shell. He felt hot streaks across his left cheek and shoulder as two of the barbed projectiles grazed his skin.

He scrambled to his feet, standing defensively in front of Raph with a sai in one hand and shuriken in the other...but the battle was over. Three Foot ninja were down, either unconscious or dead, and the other two were moaning softly, nursing a sai wound and a broken ankle.

Without turning his back on the Foot, Don picked up a dropped tanto and knelt next to Raph. He reached for his brother's bonds, but Raph's sharp exclamation, "Wait!" halted his hands.

"What's wrong?"

"My neck," Raph said tightly.

Don glanced warily at the enemy ninja, but they were in no shape to rise. He bent close to his brother, feeling a tingle of alarm as he saw the shuriken lodged in Raph's throat. "Oh, man," he breathed.

"Lucky break for them," Raph groused, muscles tight and tense as Donnie carefully turned him onto his back to see the embedded weapon better. "It skipped off the front of my shell and hit me...slowed me down just long enough for one of 'em to jump on my back and grab hold of it. If I'd fought, he would have slit my throat."

Don gulped. The barb was deep and angled dangerously between Raph's trachea and jugular. His eyes grew wide with sudden fear as a thought struck him. "I didn't push it in deeper when I slammed into you, did I?"

"I don't think so."

Don's heart quivered nervously in his chest, but his hand was steady as he took hold of the weapon between his his finger and thumb. "Do. Not. _Move_," he said sternly. He paused for just a moment, looking at the curve of the blades and picturing exactly where the point would be, then slowly extracted the shuriken, movements as delicate as if he were touching a butterfly's wing. He cast the weapon aside with a shudder and bent down to examine the slit in the skin of Raph's throat. A thin trickle of blood leaked from the wound, but there was no thick, steady flow that would indicate a nicked vein and no arterial pulsing.

He let out a relieved sigh. "I think you're all right," he said, untying Raph's mask and straightening the creases in the red fabric with his fingers. "I'll have to stitch that closed when we get back to the lair, but it appears to be a superficial injury." He tied the mask around Raph's neck to protect the wound, then hurried to cut his brother's bonds with a dropped tanto.

"We've gotta get out of here," Raph said in a low voice, darting a glance at the downed Foot clan members. "They called the Shredder. He's coming. They think I didn't understand because they spoke in Japanese, but he'll be here any minute."

"We'll go, but you've got to level with me, Raph...are you okay?"

"Define 'okay'," he answered somewhat breathlessly, flexing his numb fingers and wincing at the sharp sensation of pins and needles as feeling returned.

Don rolled his eyes, but the anxious knot in his gut loosened a little. If he could be sarcastic, then he wasn't _that_ hurt. "Are you injured anywhere else besides your leg?"

"Not anything worth mentioning." The last shuriken had sunk deep into his thigh and Raph flinched and let out a pained hiss as the curved tips hooked around muscle fibers before Don manged to work it free. Donnie tore off his wrist guards and Raphael's, shaking them out until the material uncoiled, then wrapped them firmly around the bleeding wounds in his brother's leg. It wasn't the greatest bandage in the world, but it would do. He ducked under Raph's arm and wrapped his arm around his shell, gripping Raph's belt to give himself leverage as he helped him up.

"Okay, come on. Let's get out of here. Can you walk on your own?"

"Yeah," Raph said tersely. He stepped away from Don, limping heavily as he put weight on his injured leg, but he set his jaw determinedly and forced himself to walk more or less steadily.

Don took the pair of tanto from the unconscious ninja and tossed the sai to his brother. Raph grinned, spinning the pronged weapons wildly in his hands. "My two best friends." He gave his brother an appraising look. "Not bad, Donnie. Keep practicing and you'll be almost as good as me."

Don smirked, then cautiously opened the door and peered into the dimly lit hallway. Not a sound reached his ears, and he beckoned to Raph with a jerk of his head. The two brothers stole into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. Raph jammed a bloody shuriken next to each hinge to prevent their enemies from opening the door from the inside, giving Don a smug grin. "Penny lock, ninja style."

"Good idea."

The brothers glided down the scuffed linoleum tiles, keeping close to the wall even though the open hallway provided them no place to hide. They paused as they reached the entrance to the large glassed-in lobby. The room was dark, lit only with waxy light filtering in from the parking lot lights.

"If we're gonna make a break for it, now's the time," Raph said in a low voice.

Don nodded, taking one last look around before leading the way to the door. The cool night air brushed against their faces as they slipped outside. Don's eyes widened in alarm as the crunch of tires on gravel reached his ears, and the first glimmer of headlights sliced through the darkness. The two Turtles sprinted across the lot, ducking behind the dumpster Don had hidden behind earlier just as a car pulled up to the building. A tall, heavily armored figure emerged, flanked by a handful of black-clad ninja and – Don felt Raph's body grow taut with anger – Karai. None of the enemy fighters spoke, but Karai looked up at the Shredder and grinned smugly as she spun her long knife casually in her hand.

Donnie put one hand on Raph's shoulder and picked up his bo with the other, watching with narrowed eyes as the Shredder and his entourage entered the building. "We've got about thirty-five seconds before they realize what happened," he breathed.

Raph took a short, sharp breath to brace himself as he anticipated more running on his injured leg – but he made no complaint. "Let's move."

By the time the Shredder's enraged roar shattered the silence, the brothers had disappeared into the night.

* * *

_Okay, just a fun fact – the only reason this story even exists is because of the fight scene with Don in this chapter. I wrote it a few months ago because I really love BAMF!Don and we don't get a lot of that in the 2012 series. I wanted to see what he'd do with Raph's sai so I wrote a scene where he'd get the chance, and then tried to come up with a story where I could use the scene – and where he'd have to fight alone, without Leo and Mikey. (Clearly I wrote it before "The Pulverizer Returns" aired...oops.) _;) _So I guess it's more my headcanon now rather than canon for the show...but having the guys fight fairly well with each other's weapons is canon for 2k3, so that's what I drew on. Well, that, and my desire to see Donnie to tear it up. _ :D

_Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading along or leaving feedback! I appreciate all of you!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Here it is – the last chapter! Once again, thank you so much to everyone who has followed along or left feedback. You're all awesome. _:)

* * *

Chapter 5

The trip home had been long and slow. Splinter had been forced to brace himself against the wall with his free hand for most of the way. Despite his finely honed sense of balance, his steps were less than steady. It had been almost twenty years since he'd had a concussion, but he recognized the telltale dizziness and heavy pain in his head. It was the only reason why he had agreed to leave Michelangelo instead of staying behind himself. Every fiber of his being had rebelled against it, but the reality was that he _couldn't_ fight. Michelangelo was carefree, impulsive, and had an abysmally short attention span...but Splinter knew without a doubt that his youngest son was strong, and more than capable when it mattered.

He paused just outside the lair and gently maneuvered Leonardo against the wall. His eldest son had remained silent and had kept up with Splinter, but the effort had taxed him badly. He leaned against the brick, taking shallow breaths as Splinter cautiously inspected the door for signs of forced entry, nose twitching and ears wide to scan for intruders.

When he failed to find any sign of trouble, the master put his arm around Leonardo's shoulders and steered him inside.

"Raphael! Donatello!"

Splinter wasn't really expecting a reply, but it didn't lessen his worry when no one answered. Leonardo had attempted to call his brothers when they had stopped for a brief rest on the way home, but while his T-phone was still in one piece, the screen was shattered and the device only sparked weakly when he had tried to turn it on.

Splinter left Leonardo sitting in the main room while he retrieved first aid supplies. The floor seemed to rise and fall beneath his feet without warning, but he managed to make the journey there and back without losing his footing.

Leonardo lifted his arms away from his body a little so Splinter could look him over. Splinter gently prodded the soft area between his son's carapace and plastron, applying careful pressure over the ribs.

"There," Leonardo said softly, indicating when the examination elicited pain. "There. Ah! There!" He flinched and pulled away from his father's hands, panting shallowly through gritted teeth.

Splinter's ears flattened against his head as a wave of guilt washed over him. "I am sorry," he said quietly.

Leonardo shook his head, blinking rapidly to clear his vision from the involuntary tears of pain. "It's okay," he said breathlessly, trying to smile. "You have to check."

"That is not what I meant." Splinter rested his hand on the back of his son's scuffed and dirty shell. "I am sorry I could not keep you from harm. I tried. But I was not close enough to you and I could not protect you."

"I know, Sensei." Leonardo's blue eyes were full of understanding. "I know you tried. You couldn't have done anything else. I would have done the same thing. And I'm glad it was me instead of Mikey. It's our job, right?"

Splinter's throat grew tight and he couldn't answer right away. Instead, he began to disinfect the gash on Leonardo's arm before retrieving needle holders, suture, and a curved needle from the first aid kit. His son tensed but didn't move as he began to carefully sew the torn skin back together.

"No, Leonardo," Splinter finally managed to say. "It is _my _job. If I did not believe that Michelangelo could defeat the Foot, I never would have allowed him to stay behind. Even if it meant that I would be captured or killed, as your father it is my job to guard your life, even at the cost of my own. That is not for you to do."

"But...I'm the leader, Sensei. Like you." He said it without any arrogance, his young face calm and serious.

A tangled web of pride, warmth, and fear wrapped around Splinter's heart. "I have seen the way the four of you look after each other. It is one of the many reasons why I take pride in calling you my sons. And I have also seen how you, in particular, will put yourself in harm's way to protect your brothers. It is a noble quality in a leader. But, my son, I need you to listen to me."

He paused in his suturing and waited until Leonardo turned to look at him. "I know that you are aware that just because you are the leader, it does not make your life more valuable than the lives of your brothers. However...it does not mean that your life is of less value. Protect your brothers, but do not let your selflessness and love for them cloud your vision with regards to your own safety. You often remind me of a friend I knew in my early years as a warrior. He was a skilled leader and watched over his men as if they were his own sons, but in the heat of battle he was often blind to the danger that threatened him, and it cost him his life. You are wiser than he, Leonardo, in that you are able to see the hazards of battle. Do not lose that ability. Do not forget that your brothers – and your father – need you. Do you understand me?"

Splinter could see Leonardo carefully pondering his words. The young Turtle was silent for several moments before his mouth curved in a quiet smile and he nodded once. "Hai, Sensei."

* * *

When Raphael stumbled again, his leg finally gave out. Donnie lunged forward and caught him with a grunt, staggering under his brother's weight. "Are you going to let me help you _now?_" he groused, hooking his fingers under the edge of Raph's carapace.

"Yeah, okay. If you insist," Raph answered. He dropped his sturdy arm across Donnie's shoulders, using his taller brother as a crutch.

Don shifted his grip a little, pulling Raph snugly against his side to provide more support. He darted a glance behind them at the darkly curving tunnel. They'd entered the sewer system as soon as they could, deliberately giving the area of the disturbed sensors a wide berth. So far there hadn't been any sign of pursuit. The bandages on Raph's leg had soaked through, sending warm red threads winding down his leg, so Donnie had steered them to walk in the rain runoff in the center of the tunnel. The droplets of blood swirled away in the chilly, ankle-deep water and left no trail.

"We're almost home," Donnie said reassuringly. "Just a little farther."

"I can make it."

Don smiled at the familiar stubbornness in his brother's voice, but his humor was short-lived as he realized that they'd just be back where they started: home, alone, without any idea of where their father or brothers might be. Only this time, Raph was hurt and the Foot were running around looking for anything green with a shell.

Relief washed over him as they rounded the last bend in the tunnel and came to the entrance. He shifted his grip on Raph and reached for the door. "Okay, you're not gonna like this, but I think we need to get you settled and then I'll go out and look for..._Sensei!_" Splinter looked around when he heard Don yelp. Donnie hurriedly closed the door, hauling Raph in after him.

"What happened? Where have you been?" Splinter demanded. He stood quickly but staggered, catching hold of the top edge of the sunken floor.

"We went looking for you!" Donnie's brown eyes widened in alarm as he saw the soot and burn marks on his father's clothing, and he hurried across the room as fast as he could get Raph to go. The worried wrinkles in his forehead deepened as his big brother came into view. Leonardo looked battered and dirty, and a row of blood-encrusted sutures marred his right arm. "What happened?"

"And where's Mikey?" Raph asked tightly.

"We...had a bit of a rough night," Leo said thinly.

Raph's green eyes looked unnaturally large without his mask as his gaze swept the lair. "Where's Mikey?" he repeated.

"He's on his way," Leo answered. "And he's okay. Or...well, he was when we split up."

Don felt Raph tense, and he had to tighten his hold to keep his injured brother from pulling away. "Raph, would you just...! Quit fighting me, I'll help you down, okay? Give them a chance to explain."

"Perhaps _you_ should explain." The tension in Splinter's deep voice caused all three brothers to freeze. "Explain why the two of you left the lair after I asked you to remain here until we returned."

Donnie gulped. Splinter wasn't angry – not yet – but Don recognized that tone, and he knew that if his father wasn't satisfied with their reasons for disobeying him, the next week (or two) of training would be absolutely miserable. "Okay, well...you know those seismic sensors I've been working on...?"

* * *

Mikey glided along the side of the sewer tunnel, tucking his bleeding arm a little closer against his side. He'd taken a circuitous route home – he was pretty sure the eight ninja he'd fought weren't in any shape to come after him, but he didn't know if they were expecting friends. He could have taken a shorter way home if he'd chosen to swim part of the way, but the thought of submerging his injured arm in the cold storm runoff made him shudder.

He shivered again, swallowing hard against the twinge of nausea that twisted his stomach. He felt cold all over, congealing blood a heavy, chilly slick on his arm and down his left side. The cut was deep and pulsated with fiery heat, making the rest of his body feel even colder by comparison. The worst of the bleeding had subsided, but after the adrenaline rush of fighting had faded, the laceration had really started to hurt, and he was starting to feel lightheaded.

Casting one last cautious glance around him, he eased the door to the lair open and slipped through. A burst of warmth exploded in his chest like a firework when he heard Donnie's voice. He recognized the half-distracted, lecturing tone that his brother would adopt when he was trying to focus on something important but still trying to keep his attention on whoever was distracting him. Hope rose in his heart when he realized that if Donnie was here, then he couldn't have been captured by the Foot. But...that meant..._Raph._

Nausea gripped him again, but it wasn't from the pain. Heart lurching uneasily, he rounded the corner and stopped short, caught off guard at the scene that awaited him. He saw Leo first, and he was a little surprised when Leo didn't notice him – but the faded, distant look on his big brother's face told him that Leo's energy was focused on trying to tune out the pain of his injuries. Raph was next to him, glowering at the far corner of the lair. He was hurt, too, but he was _there_. Relief at seeing his entire family together and safe made his knees weak. Splinter was seated with his back to the door. His robe had been pulled off his shoulders, resting in folds around his waist while Donatello carefully carded through the thick fur on his back.

"I don't there's any displacement," Don was saying, "but you've definitely got some cracked ribs. You're lucky – both of you," he added, looking at Leo. "There's still no guarantee you don't have any pulmonary contusions, but the fact that you're breathing normally and haven't coughed up any blood is a good sign. You're going to be in a bit of pain for a while, but you'll be okay." He moved around to stand in front of Splinter, taking the long, whiskered face in his hands as he looked intently into his father's eyes. "At least your pupils are equal. You're _sure_ you don't have any blurred vision or anything?"

Any reply Splinter might have made was cut off by Donnie's sudden harsh gasp as his eyes lifted past his father's shoulder and locked onto Mikey.

"Mikey!" Raph scrambled clumsily to his feet. He was limping badly, but he didn't let it slow him down. He stopped short in front of Mikey and started to reach for him, but stopped, uncertain of where he could touch him. "How bad are you hurt?" he demanded.

Mikey wondered why his brother looked so scared, but when he looked down and saw how much red was splashed across his limbs and plastron, he understood. "Oh. Don't worry," he said vaguely. "Not all of it's mine. Just...half of it."

Donnie caught up to Raph, scanning Michelangelo's blood-spattered body to find the source of the injury. "I didn't even hear you come in," he said, half to himself.

"Uh..._ninja_, Dude," Mikey said with a smirk.

"It's just his arm," Raph said, voice gruff to hide his relief. "I think it looks worse than it is."

Donnie whistled softly through the gap in his teeth. "It's bad enough. They nearly hit bone," he murmured. His momentary panic had passed and he was outwardly calm again, but his eyes were distressed. "We'll get you cleaned up first, and then I'll stitch you up," he said.

"I'll take him," Raph said, gripping Mikey's right elbow. "Come on, Mike. Time to hit the showers."

"Whoa, take it easy," Mikey complained, stumbling a little as his big brother tugged him along. His legs still felt shaky and he had the sneaking suspicion that relief wasn't the only thing making him feel weak. But, blood loss or not, he was still Michelangelo, and that meant he had to give Raphael a hard time. "You know, you're awfully pushy for someone who's got more stitches than Frankenstein. What happened?"

"More stitches than Frankenstein's _monster_," Raph corrected. "You know your sci-fi well enough to get it right."

"So now you're channeling Don-'it's-important-to-be-accurate'-atello?"

"Just because you're bleeding doesn't mean I won't punch you."

Mikey smiled tiredly. "Yeah, it does. But, seriously, Raph...what happened? And where's your mask?"

"Later." Worry for his little brother and chagrin over whatever had happened to himself that night made Raphael's reply brusque, but Mikey recognized the mood and the brush-off didn't bother him. Raph steered him into the bathroom and turned on the shower, fiddling with the knob for a minute or two until he was satisfied with the temperature. "You got it from here?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll be back in a sec." He limped out of the room, leaving the door open just a few inches behind him.

Mikey tossed his mask and gear in a pile on the floor and stepped into the shower. The warm water instantly turned crimson as it pooled around his feet, and he rubbed at the unpleasant itchy sensation as the dried blood peeled away from his skin. He braced himself and moved his injured arm under the spray. The cut stung viciously, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay still, letting the water flush the wound.

When he turned off the water and pulled back the curtain, Raph was back, perched on the counter and waiting as patiently as he was able. He was wearing a mask again, and holding out a towel and a clean mask for Mikey. Mikey wrapped the towel tightly around his shoulders and stood still while Raph silently tied his mask on for him. He smiled a little when his big brother finished the knot without yanking on the orange tails – Raph must still be pretty worried.

"Come on. Doctor Donnie's waiting." Raph put his hand on the back of Mikey's towel-covered shell and gave him a little shove, walking close behind him as they returned to the main room. They reached the padded bench just in time. Mikey's muscles felt like they had been melted by the warm water and he was feeling clumsy and a little dizzy. He sat down next to Leo, sagging back against the cushions.

Don pushed a cold glass of orange juice into his hand and carefully peeled the towel away from his arm. He frowned anxiously as he inspected the wound. "This is really deep," he said. "I can't just put in some skin sutures and hope it holds. The muscle needs to be stitched back together."

Mikey drained half the glass before setting it aside, shrugging as best as he could. "Okay."

"It's not that simple," Donnie said reluctantly. "It's going to take a little time, and it's really going to hurt."

The juice seemed to curdle in his stomach and Mikey felt his face go a little pale, but he met Don's eyes bravely. "You gotta do what you gotta do, Bro. I'll be okay."

"Michelangelo."

Mikey looked up when he heard his father's deep voice. "Hai, Sensei?"

"Do you remember the new meditation technique I began teaching the four of you a few months ago?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"I would like you to try it while Donatello works on your arm. It will help you to distance yourself from the pain. In truth...that is why I taught you," he continued slowly, solemnly looking into his son's face. "I realized as your battles with our enemies escalated...we might someday have need of it."

Mikey's wide eyes were unusually serious as he exchanged glances with his brothers, but he didn't comment. He just took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. Gimme a second." He shut his eyes and leaned back against the bench. It took him a while to sort out the thoughts that bounced around his head like pinballs from Raph's game. Adrenaline-laced memories of his battle earlier vied for his attention along with the dark moments where he was afraid Leo would die. His arm was really hurting, and he wasn't sure what to think about Splinter's explanation about this new type of meditation. But he carefully took each mental thread and untangled it, laying his thoughts out in neat rows until he was ready. "Wake me up when you're done, Donnie," he said sleepily. His mind sank beneath soft, warm darkness before he heard his brother's reply.

Donnie watched Mikey breathing for a minute or two before cautiously laying a hand on his arm. "Mikey, can you hear me?" When he didn't get a response, he took a steadying breath and reached for the first aid kit.

Leo wrapped his arm around Mikey's shoulders and tugged gently until his little brother was leaning against his side, orange-banded head pillowed on his shoulder. Leo suppressed a wince as he got settled. Although Mike was small, he was heavy. The pressure hurt Leo's ribs, but he didn't care. Don started suturing – slowly, at first, watching for signs of pain – but when Mikey appeared to remain unaware of his actions, he relaxed a bit and started working quickly.

"Now, Raphael," Splinter said. "Please finish your story."

Raph sighed before picking up where Donnie had left off earlier. Leo listened silently as his brother filled in the gaps, explaining how they knew something had gone wrong but they weren't sure what had happened. He told them how he'd been ambushed by the Foot in an alley and about the freakish circumstances that had allowed their enemy to get the upper hand. And he told them how Donatello had tracked him down and found him just in time.

Splinter sighed as much as his cracked ribs would let him. "While I did ask you boys to stay home until the three of us returned, in this case it would be wrong to punish you for leaving. Our life here has never been easy, and these recent threats have made it more difficult. You took action the only way you knew how, and I cannot fault you for it. I am glad you are safe. And, Donatello, I am proud of how you adapted to circumstances to save your brother."

Donnie flushed a little but didn't look up from his suturing job. "Hai, Sensei."

"But we didn't accomplish anything," Raph said, folding his arms in frustration. "The three of you didn't even need us. It was just a wild goose chase that ended with all of us except for Donnie getting sidelined. And we still need food."

Don stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he finished the last skin suture and snipped the ends, wiping away the last trickle of blood. "Murphy's Law?" he ventured with a shrug. He gently patted Michelangelo's cheek. "Mikey, I'm done. You can wake up now."

"More like Turtle's Law," Raph snorted. "I mean...come _on._ Shuriken. In. My. _Neck_. How does that even happen? Turtle luck, true to form."

"Nah, man," Mikey said hazily, lifting his head from Leo's shoulder, eyes still closed. "Not true. We're all gonna be okay, right? Things went wrong, but we managed to turn 'em around. We always do. We make our own luck."

Leo stared down at his little brother for a minute before exchanging astonished glances with Don and Raph. "That's...that's actually pretty profound, Mikey," he stammered.

"Hm? What?" Mikey opened his eyes, blinking in confusion. "What'd I say?"

Leo smiled, rubbing the top of Mikey's head affectionately. "Don't worry about it. I'll tell you later."

Splinter cast a glance at the clock on the wall. "It has been a long night. It is almost dawn. You four should get to bed."

"No argument here," Don said, stifling a yawn. "I'll go out after dark today and sweep the tunnels to make sure there aren't any more traps set. And I'll see if I can pick up some food if I have time." He reached out to Leo and Mikey, giving both brothers a hand up, then hooked his hand around Raph's arm to help him stand. "Wait there, Sensei," he said sternly. "I'm coming back for you."

Splinter could have managed without Donatello's help, but he nodded his assent. He gingerly slipped his arms back into his sleeves and pulled his robe over his shoulders while his sons made their way to their rooms. Donatello took Raphael to his room first. A faint smile touched Splinter's mouth as he heard the half amused, half irritated timbre of Raphael's voice – "Will you quit hovering, Donnie? I'm okay!" – and he watched as Donatello exited the room first to check on Michelangelo for a short while, then entered the room of his eldest brother.

Donatello stayed in Leonardo's room for several minutes. Splinter couldn't hear what was said, and he didn't try to eavesdrop, but he could hear the low murmur of voices as Donatello helped his elder brother get settled. A burst of relief mingled with a pang of remembered fear as Splinter reflected once more on how near he came to losing two of his sons that night. He shut his eyes tightly, forcibly redirecting his thoughts before they could take root in his mind. He did not want his sons' imagined deaths to haunt his dreams again.

"_**We make our own luck."**_

He sighed again. _Ah, Michelangelo. You are not aware of the wisdom you possess._

"Sensei? Are you okay?"

Splinter opened his eyes when he heard the hesitant query. Donatello stood in front of him, worried brown eyes searching his father's face. He smiled. "Yes. I was just thinking how fortunate I am that you all are safe."

"Yeah. Tonight could have been...bad," Donatello replied, understating the way he often did when he was upset or distracted. He frowned down at Michelangelo's dried blood still darkening the creases in his hands before turning abruptly away to hurriedly – but neatly – pack away the first aid supplies.

"Yes, it could have been. If not for Michelangelo's ingenuity and strength, Leonardo would have died. And as for Raphael, if not for your bravery and skill, he would have been tortured to death."

Donatello paused in his movements and let out a shaky breath. "You really think the Shredder would have killed him?" he asked in a low voice.

"Do you remember what I told you the very first time you fought the him?" Splinter asked. It was a needless question. Donatello never forgot anything.

"You said we were at war." Donatello's jaw firmed and he looked up, fire in his eyes. "They won't win, Sensei. We won't let them."

"I know. You and your brothers have never been content to sit back and let yourselves be carried along by fate, or depend on outside circumstances to guide you. Michelangelo is correct. You have always made your own way." He leaned forward, ignoring the pain in his chest, and gently pushed Donatello's hands away from the half-packed first aid kit. "Let it be for tonight. You can take care of it in the morning."

Donatello sighed, body posture relaxing enough to show how tired he truly was. "Hai, Sensei. Come on, I'll help you."

Splinter put his arm across his son's strong shoulders and allowed himself to be led across the lair toward his chambers. If Donatello noticed that perhaps his father's arm held him a little closer than was truly necessary, he refrained from mentioning it.

Donatello paused when they reached Splinter's room, tilting his head back to look into his father's face. "Sensei, do you believe in luck?"

Splinter's arm tightened around his shoulders. "No, my son. I believe in the four of _you_."

Donatello smiled.


End file.
